


Together Apart

by LizzyMay



Series: Our Second Chances [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Reincarnation, Scars, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-10-16 21:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyMay/pseuds/LizzyMay
Summary: A mistake born from grief. A wound that will never truly heal. A once in a lifetime chance.Perhaps we should have let you die.Perhaps then you could have truly rested.TL;DR: A sequel to Never To Meet; a lifetime later.





	1. Another Book

When Lea finally passed away, it had nothing but love for the life he had led. 

He had been blessed with a beautiful partner, one who had loved him through thick and thin. Through fights, through laughter, through moments of poverty and highs of richness. Together they had cultivated a loving family, not one of their own making. They took in those who had lost to the darkness, children born without family or purpose. Together they had brought these children out of darkness, letting them explore light and love in their home. Lea understanding the most troubled of them, his other half passing on wisdom greater than Lea ever had. They even lived long enough to see their family expand further, with one great grandchild taking the final place in Lea’s heart before it gave it all away. 

He had enjoyed a beautiful life, filled with great health and all the warmth light could bless onto one of its chosen heroes. He was truly one of the lucky ones, to die with no regrets. 

And with that, his story drew to a close, his final chapter complete. 

He closed his eyes and slipped away into the warm bath of sleep. Forever. 

“Finally. My hand was getting tired” 

Lea peeled open his eyes, finding himself sitting in a white room. With no windows, no doors. Just a large white bookcase filled with colourful books. Some bound in leather, others in colourful card paper, sealed in wax or tied with twine. The chair he sat in was extremely uncomfortable, yet, felt as though it had been made for him. Like being forced to sit in the position of a statue. He stretched, then took a slow, unsteady stand. 

His eyes took a moment to adjust, blinking away his blurred vision. He wasn’t in pain, which he was surprised about… his knee had been killing him for years… oh lord he hoped he didn’t die from knee pain. How embarrassing.

He took full advantage of his renewed use of his knee. He walked over to the bookcase, running his finger along the spines of various books. If he squinted, he could just about make out the names of some of the titles. 

‘Terra’

‘Aqua’

‘Isa’

‘Roxas’

Oh. 

Lea cast his eyes down the length of the bookcase, taking in the names of those who had shared in his story. He supposed these books must have been their stories… finished. Neatly shelved into their slots, each personalised to the person the story belonged to. Lea briefly wondered who on earth was meant to read them… he didn’t think that was why he was here though. 

A tut came from behind him, causing Lea to turn around. 

The man that sat before him finished off his final sentence, his pen flicking off the page. He glanced at Lea from the corner of his eyes, the venomous green and bored look sending chills down Lea’s spine. This really was the guy that wrote his life down? 

It took him all of two minutes for the startling realisation that this was Axel to wash over him. 

“You?” Lea said dumbly, taking in the towering appearance of the man. Did he really used to look like this? Act like this? Crazy how quickly war and family will change you.

Axel didn’t respond to his stupid question, instead, picking up a clean, blank book with his free hand. He flicked it open to the first page, taking the pen off the table. He paused before putting it to the paper. His intense stare catching Lea’s eyes and rooting him to the spot. 

“I’m about to write down your dying wish.” Axel muttered, the dark edge to his voice catching Lea off guard. “Are you sure that is what you want?” 

“I’m shocked you even ask” 

“I’m just thinking logically. It’s not like I’m not desperate too. But you have to consider your next life. You might not even find him, not until your dying breath. You might only have him for a moment.”

“I know” 

“You don’t even know this affect-“

“I’ve made my choice.” Lea stated plainly. 

He hadn’t lived a life time thinking about his mistakes, what he should have done, what he should have said… to not say anything at all. To not use this third chance to finally meet him again. 

Lea watched as Axel let out a irritated sigh, then got to work on tainting the first chapter of Lea’s new life.

The book’s edges turned a dark grey, its pages quivering and curling in on themselves, as though it was protesting. Axel ignored this and continued to write. With each stroke of the pen, Lea felt weaker and weaker, before slumping against the book case. No longer able to stand. His book of ‘Lea’ falling out of his grasp, landing on the floor, its new cover crumbling into dust. 

With his consciousness fading away, Lea could only watch as Axel shut the new book, placing it onto his lap. He picked up the crumbling book, blowing onto the remaining pieces, letting them fall onto Lea’s body. Letting the tiny pieces of Lea latch onto the book, onto Lea’s fading form… onto the next life. 

Axel walked over to the bookshelf, then slotting the book neatly into place. 

With that, Lea closed his eyes, and vanished into nothing.


	2. Another Chance

The memory of then had long gone. 

Like it had been a whisper. 

A breath from a time and place so far removed from now, no one was sure how true it was.

It had been over a hundred years since the Keyblade War. A hundred years since hurt began and destiny ended. A hundred years of healing and breaking and fragmenting. A hundred years of story telling till the truth had become so smeared no one knew exactly what was true. 

The Keyblade War… 

Was it a mere legend?

And the story of the one who gave up everything for the chance of a better tomorrow. 

Did he ever find out how the story ended? 

The problem with books is that they disintegrate. Eventually the pages turn yellow and dusty, breaking at the slightest touch of a breeze. The light damages the words within, turning blank ink to purple to blue to nothing. The glue within the book fractures, breaking and losing pages upon pages of history. 

Perhaps that’s why the story of the Keyblade war and the Boy with the final Promise was so captivating. 

Namine had been writing soul stories for as long as she could remember. They were never her own, no. She could never find enough strength to finish hers.

But she had decided that her work was far more important than her own story.

The boy with the final promise… he truly was a sad tale. 

He wanted nothing more than to be loved and wanted, and only in his final hours did he feel it.

Perhaps that’s why he died so peacefully in his sleep, wrapped in his lovers’ arms…

Namine had written his next life too. She noticed how no matter where he went, who he tried to love and care for, however hard he wished for completeness… it never came. His last story, the story of Aros, happened mere years after the keyblade war. A story that ended just as soon as it had started.

She had cried tears over a boy she had never met, over a lifetime he could never have. 

She knew he couldn’t. 

There was not enough room in the book for a whimsical love story, or some adrenaline pumping adventure.

She only had two pages left. 

It had worried her for a while, from the day she had picked up his new book. Why had it been so short? In this lifetime, where he was meant to finally live free… he was to be snatched away before he even finished high school? 

She only wrote the events as they happened… she wasn’t allowed to change the tide of time and fate. If he was to die suddenly, then that would be what happened. She couldn’t write in a new character, a new plot line. Nothing. Just document what happens and shelve the book. That is what she must do, even as she writes his final steps. 

She writes how he had bought himself an ice cream, walking up the clock tower steps to take in a look at the sunset. Something he had done for years, but without really knowing why. He loved the colours, loved how warm it made him feel. Bathed in sunset and eating ice cream… how could his life feel any more perfect? 

Aros never stood a chance against fate, she thought, as she turned to the final page. 

He had sat on the edge of the tower, kicking his legs out over the edge, as he had always done. He spent an hour eating his ice cream, thinking of nothing in particular. Enjoying his own company, as he always did. 

He looked at his ice cream stick… a Winner! That meant another free ice cream, right? He leapt up in excitement.

And in his haste to claim his prize, he lost his footing.

And plummeted to the concrete ground below.

Namine placed the final full stop on his story. The story complete.

Aros really hadn’t had a chance to live, just as Roxas hadn’t. This poor soul was fighting for another chance to live, a chance to be something… he just never existed long enough to do that. 

He materialised in her room, slumped into a chair in the corner of the room. He looked peaceful, at least. She didn’t think she could bear it if he had died in agony. Perhaps the impact happened to fast he had no idea he was dead… maybe that’s why he was about to journey onto his third chance. The poor boy needed to have a real go on life… but Namine just couldn’t figure out what had stopped him from living a full life. Why was his book so short? By all accounts, he should have lived a long life…

So she waited.

She waited until she could be sure that he would have a chance. To live in a world where anything that hurt him in the past would be long dead. A far off memory, a scattered dream. Where Keyblades were myths and the story of the War a legend. 

A hundred years in the future, Namine decided that it was time to give Roxas the life he deserved. With his old name, in his old town, away from those who could hurt him. And this time he would not enter the world alone. 

She would make sure of that…


	3. Another Life

Years passed. 

A sentence Namine had been so sure she would never be able to say about her charge. Born beside him, to guide him, she ensured he could finally rest. A sister. A guardian. And most importantly, a friend to last him his life time. 

The years passed. A happy, uneventful childhood. The teenage years that had seemed so complicated and so difficult yet so trivial in comparison to his previous life. 

The years that finally gave way to something Roxas had never gotten.

Adulthood. 

It brought Namine endless joy on the day her brother and her finally turned eighteen. 

The oldest he had ever been, a mile stone in Roxas’ story if there ever was one. 

And still his book looked so deliciously full, wonderful white pages shimmering with the prospect of new life, new hope. She could hardly believe it.

Eighteen years of keeping him safe. 

Eighteen years of pushing and guiding. Planning and anticipating the worst to arrive at any moment…

It hadn’t been easy. 

Even after everything his soul had been through, he remained so blissfully innocent. So wonderfully fresh and untouched by the horrors he had experienced in all of the past lives he had led. Innocent to the pain he used to know so well and hold so close to him. Innocent to those who had tried to control him, manipulate him, sacrifice him. Innocent to Him, and the selfish things he had done in an attempt of redemption. 

Yet innocent to the love that made him, saved him and ultimately ended him. 

It hurt for her to pull him out of the world of those who’d remember him, but what choice did she have? He had thousands of pages to fill… and the idea of losing even one of those blank pages terrified her. 

As a writer, she could only document his life as it played.

As his sister, she could guide him.

He didn’t recognise those faces like she did. The moments where a thousand memories poured into the minds of those reborn at the sight of the boy they had fought beside. How they would run towards him, only for her to grab his arm and lead him away- spending precious drops of her power in sending those who followed them a blinding light. They would forget, just long enough to allow her to slip him away. That was enough.

He had always pinned it to her being able to read people extremely well. Roxas just assumed she knew who to trust and who was out for blood. She of course, knew otherwise. 

She had directed him gently, pulling his interest towards those she could monitor. It was cruel, but in her mind, it made sense. If he wanted to survive, he must stay away from all of those things that tied him to his fate in his past lives. Anything to spare him loosing those precious pages. 

Anything. 

So many things in this life tied him to his past. So many things had the potential to cause his end… 

In this life, he never touched a skateboard. Why would he need to? The tram service had vastly improved from a hundred years ago. He could make it from their home at the top of the hill to the bottom of the market in five minutes flat. 

Though perhaps it wasn’t the efficiency of travel that sent his heart aching…

The blood that pumped through his body as he raced down the hill. The tension of his muscles as they skilfully guided the wooden board around the familiar sunset soaked streets. Each turn of a corner, a pull on his core, a bend of his knee, the weight on the left lean. How his leg would swing and foot slap the ground, propelling himself further into the labyrinth of paved roads and hanging flower baskets. How a devilish grin would split his face in two on the approach of a staircase, leaning into the motion and bracing for the jump. That moment of free fall, as the pavement disappeared beneath him, his hand dipping under the body of the board. It was a few seconds of living, the adrenaline surging through him, fuelling him with the energy to pull a terribly clichéd pose in the jump. He’d laugh at himself on landing, dipping with the force of gravity into his knees and swerving into the next lane to breathe. 

It was moments like that were he felt most alive… in the past. For now, he walked. The flight of stairs that he’d soar over now another obstacle on his way to his part time job. Another landmark of his life that seemingly didn’t seem to matter anymore.

He never saw a photo of the beach, let alone set foot on one. 

The soft grains of sand caressing his feet and coating his toes, the feel of the salt water that licked his knees and sprayed into the air a far off memory. He’d never known how glorious it felt to lie shirtless under the sun for hours at a time, melting into the warmth of the sand and closing his eyes to the afternoon sun. To nap in paradise, to drink a cold lemonade and listen to the quiet clinking of ice against glass. For each breath to be lighter than the last. A heavy, full sigh one would take after a filling meal. Satisfied and content. The problems of a past so frightening completely erased as though the pain had never existed. 

No… he had never known that. 

He had never eaten the Twilight Town’s signature ice cream, one that had been produced by the town for centuries. The sweet but salty flavour that coated his tongue and sent his mind reeling to evenings spent at the clocktower. Basking in the evening glow of a glorious sun set, deep oranges, red as full as wine. They painted him healthy, happy. The light flooded his eyes and swirled deep within his soul, writing a thousand songs in his heart that told of life long friendship and the feeling of belonging. The music that carried in the wind and ruffling his hair, the sticky drops of ice cream that spotted his fingers…

No.   
No he could never go on the tower. Never. 

Namine had watched it happen once- and she would never watch it happen again.

Namine had managed to convince him he was allergic to ice cream… forging a memory of sickness in the boy’s mind. 

It was cruel. 

These things were important to Roxas, in his old lives… but she had no idea what could cause his death. He needed to stay away from it. Anything that tied him to the Roxas of hundreds of years ago. Hundreds of years of healing and restarting that could be thrown away at the touch of a black coat or a glance at a struggle bat. 

She did this to keep him alive. 

She at least gave him the pleasure of growing up in his home town… she felt he was safe here, only because she had seen the town before. She knew exactly what to expect… Twilight Town was sleepy, uneventful. It had been that way for centuries. 

Namine knew he was safe.

Perhaps the problem of writing her own charges story was how there were now no secrets. 

She could see that he was growing bored, restless. He smiled at her gifts on their birthday, the delicate watercolour paints and pencils. He had been ever so polite… yet it was only when she wrote his birthday entry did she learn the truth.

He longed for something other than paint. Nothing she could have gifted him would have alleviated the sorrow that weighed heavily on his heart. How truly empty he felt, like he was carrying a gaping wound in his chest that would not stop bleeding. He was intensely lonely, longing for something more than he held now. He was tired of his new existence, the grind of going to work, of studying, of feeling so suffocated in his small town.

He would walk by his old hide outs, his favourite spots, his watch points… and would feel empty. Like he knew something was missing… but he couldn’t quite place it. He’d see other people, friends, couples. His soul ached as the watched them walk together. Laugh. Kiss. 

He longed to be loved, but that was the one thing Namine could not gift her brother.

It pained her to write his pages… but what could she do?

He had lived the longest he had ever had. What was a few years of pain for a life time?

She turned the page, her hand moving swiftly across the paper, ink flowing as smooth as a river. Another entry, another day of his emotions and experiences flooding the page. One day it will change, she thought. He’ll finally get his happy ending.

Her pen reached the end of the page.

And tomorrow would become another day.


End file.
